


have to explode

by ninata



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Choking, Established Relationship, M/M, bad. its bad, messy sex, pregame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 22:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14122083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: Staring up, up, at the hundred watt light that burns above / Name one thing about us two anyone could love. (check beginning notes for warnings)





	have to explode

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for:  
> self harm, suicide, child abuse, being Really horny for death, violent imagery, bad codependency, y'know. the same shit as always  
> **this fic does **not** contain rape/dubcon**

Kokichi winds his arms around Saihara's waist.

It's a comforting pressure— another person's body. Saihara's got him beat in height and general size, so he covers Kokichi entirely. His lips don't taste like anything, his tongue doesn't either. Just spit. Something in that feels nice.

His brain is hazy, still trying to nail down thought processes. Their mouths finally disconnect, Kokichi's breath coming in heavy puffs. Saihara rests his head next to his, his nose tucked against his cheek.

"That was nice," He says, and Kokichi's swept away, shutting his eyes. He could listen to him talk for hours. His voice is pleasant to the ears, or something like that. His feelings don't make him very unbiased. "You're sure I'm not too heavy…?"

"Oh— No, no. I, um. I like this." Kokichi struggles to find words, like always. "I'm comfortable, but, uh, if you're not…"

"No, I like it too." Saihara pushes a hand back through Kokichi's hair. He feels like he'll melt into the couch cushions. "I can make some food, if you're hungry…"

"I...uh. I...I'd like to...stay like this for a bit, actually…"

He can feel the smile against his cheek. Kokichi wonders if he can die from this. Shock, maybe? If this evolves into full heart palpitations, maybe he'll have a heart attack and die. No, that's pushing it.

"Okay. Tell me when you're hungry." Well, he IS hungry, but not really for food. Uh. Not in a sexual way, either. When they're like this, Kokichi can feel just how real Saihara is, how tangible the feeling is between them. It's stupid to still feel like it's one-sided at this point, but Kokichi is, if anything, impressively paranoid. He could win an award. He's hungry for more of this. More tenderness. That's stupid, isn't it?

When they're like this, Kokichi's brain stops beating itself with a metal bat. Sure, he's still convinced Saihara hates him, still prepared multiple steps ahead for a hasty escape if Saihara suddenly decides to kick him out or reveals he's hated him all along. But even his brain can't completely stop him from enjoying this, a quiet moment where he feels comfortable.

"C-Could you...pet my hair some more?" He whispers, almost hoping Saihara won't hear him. But with their proximity he does, and his hands slide through the locks, palms brushing past his temples.

This...is nice.

Nothing good can last, right? That's an undeniable truth. Kokichi is certain something about this will get ruined, that Saihara will end up despising him. That whatever they have will disappear for good, and Kokichi will never get to kiss him again. Never get to hold him like this. Preparing for the worst case scenario is just smart. It hurts to think like this, but he isn't stupid enough to hope much anymore.

Saihara's touch is soothing. His hands smell vaguely of sweat, his skin warm. Kokichi's eyes are shut, thinking, thinking. Lets his thoughts wander. He never thinks of anything nice, whether he's hating himself for saying something wrong or remembering bad times, if he's imagining a meteor coming down and destroying Saihara's apartment building. Saihara makes him wish his brain was nicer, kinder. Thinking of flowers or kittens, thinking of how nice Saihara's body feels. Can he do both? He'd try, for him.

The sex is nice. It's always nice. It's nice when their bodies connect, when Kokichi's heart beats to the pace of Saihara's hips— or, well. No, that metaphor sounded nice, but it's not accurate. His heart beats a lot faster than that. Reality is harsh.

It's nice when Saihara fucks him. It's nice when he fucks Saihara. That's the most blunt way he can put it, the best way he can distance himself from his feelings and look at it with clinical detachment. The further he gets from it, the less he'll be disappointed when this inevitably blows up in his face. Everything about what he has with Saihara is nice to him, but upon the day Saihara decides he hates him, he'll be sure to lie and say he never liked him, anyway.

Kokichi isn't a selfish person. He tries really, really hard not to be. He turns his head a bit, Saihara responding when he catches on. Their lips lock together yet again. He's had it drilled into his head not to be selfish, not to do the things he wants for himself, not to want things in the first place. But somehow, Saihara dredged up something he thought was completely dead inside him, and here he is. Wanting.

"Hey, do you want to go for another round?" Saihara says, and the words make Kokichi's stomach clench.

"You want to? But...it's so hot out."

"I always want to." Saihara's voice is tender, melting as it passes his ears. Kokichi swallows thickly. Oh. Well, that's a statement. "If Ouma-kun is okay to go again, then...I'll make you feel good."

This time, Kokichi is definitely hungry for sex. He's always been told he's very gifted, very clever. That his brain is in top percentages, exceptional intelligence. Right now, he can't think of anything but his dick.

"...Uh...um. Y-You...if you, want to, I'd like that..."

Saihara sits up a bit. Looking up at him, dark hair hanging in his face, eyes glinting like jewelry, his pale skin marked with hickeys...it's a view Kokichi can't pretend he doesn't enjoy. His hands keep him steady, one on Kokichi's shoulder, the other on the couch cushion next to his neck. He leans down.

His lips burn against Kokichi's, scalding chapped flesh. Kokichi would take lips over cigarette butts any day, would rather have Saihara carve him up than have to take a razor to himself ever again. He'd take every kind of pain Saihara could throw at him over the pain he causes himself, that other people cause him. He hates hurting himself, hates pain, but something about the way Saihara hurts him makes his heart flutter. Makes him feel alive.

Does that make sense? He doesn't know.

Saihara's fingertips skate along the side of Kokichi's body, light enough that it almost tickles. He wills himself not to buck up into it. It’s nothing, barely a feeling, but Kokichi’s whole world is centered on that nothing. The slightest gesture, the most casual glance, Saihara even breathes near Kokichi and his heart trembles. He should be broken. They always told him he was broken. He shouldn’t have anything left inside him to hope, but Saihara just might love him, and that thought alone could make him whole again. If he thinks that hard enough, maybe it’ll be true. 

Saihara’s lips brush Kokichi’s ear, hand taking him gently until he’s hard again. His body heaves, and he’s suddenly struck with the thought it may be too soon for him to go at it again— but the hesitation gives way, and an almost agonizing pleasure floods his senses. He rocks with Saihara’s movements, trying to hold everything in. His breath, his voice, his heart trying so desperately to pry itself out of his body. Can he keep it together? Probably not. 

His hips grind against Saihara’s hand a little too wildly and Saihara’s other hand pins his throat. His weight is on that hand— it hurts, a thrill shooting through him.

“S-S— Saihara—“

“Is this okay?” Saihara breathes. The look on his face makes Kokichi’s heart hammer harder, the quirk of the corner of his lips, the madness in his eyes. Kokichi nods eagerly, a tremor starting in his legs.

The grip on his neck tightens. Kokichi’s breath hitches, afraid, euphoric, his body tying itself in knots. The hand on his dick hurts a little too, just a little too rough, perfectly so. He wants it all, wants everything Saihara could do to him, every disgusting and horrible thing, every cruel and painful thing. Nobody else can, nobody else should. This is all he ever wanted.

His consciousness is the tip of a pin, narrow and close. His breaths are short and quick, rasping. Saihara knows where to press so he doesn’t pass out. His lower body is shaking erratically. So hazy. So much pressure, maybe he’ll be crushed. Maybe Saihara will shift his grip and choke him to death. Maybe he’ll come so hard he’ll wither away.

Can he take any longer? His body jerks in every direction. Saihara waxes and wanes in his vision. He loves him. Kokichi loves him so much, even when he knows it’s wrong.

It all comes crashing down, bursting at the base of his spine. He comes with tears running down his face, spit and snot mixing on his lips. Release, and he’s gulping air down.

Coughing. Hurts. It hurts so much. Saihara leans away, and by the time Kokichi can breathe again, Saihara’s coming on his stomach. He catches that last look of rapture as he does.

How could he love anyone more?

He flops against the couch cushions. He’s still struggling, still a little nauseous. He shuts his eyes, and all he can see is that terrible smile.

“You’re— You’re okay, right?” Saihara asks, and Kokichi jumps when his hand brushes back some hair. Relaxes.

“I’m great,” Kokichi says, because he is, but he isn’t. It's not that it wasn't good. Not like that. 

He wants that to have completed him, but it hasn’t.

Still broken.

No, Saihara can’t fix him, he finds himself thinking. He just got a little too caught up in the moment.

“Let me get you some water.” Saihara’s weight leaves him. He doesn’t want it to. Even though he's back to square one, he can’t help but love him.

Tired, hungry. Maybe he won’t be whole until Saihara kills him. Maybe he won’t be happy until Saihara fucks him and tears his throat out as he comes.

Either Saihara will kill him, or he’ll throw him away, just like everyone else. Kokichi isn’t an optimist. When Saihara gets over this fling and leaves forever, Kokichi will pretend it doesn’t rend him asunder. He’ll wait a few months and then kill himself, all alone, totally alone, completely and utterly alone, because he can’t love anyone else like this.

“Ouma-kun,” Saihara whispers, and Kokichi turns his head to look at him. Saihara’s cheeks are flushed, color stamped in soft contrast. His lips are wet, tempting. Inviting. They’re both just as naked as before, and Kokichi’s eyes nervously dart over his body. Delicate rolls of skin, scars he recognizes as similar to his own, bite shaped bruises. He smiles despite it all.

Saihara’s no better than him. They’re both disgusting. Pathetic. He should take comfort in that. “Drink some water.” He urges. Kokichi sits up. The cum is unpleasantly sticky. He's reminded of how hot it really is today, taking the cup and sipping gratefully.

Someone who revels in pain, more than Kokichi does. Someone who absolutely adores it, the gore, the agony, watching snuff on his television all alone in his apartment, fondling himself. Someone who shines so brightly, lighting up an empty black sky. The moon. Would it be funny to call him a lunatic?

Saihara's all the violence he wishes he had. All the terrible, even selfish things Kokichi lost a long time ago. Sometimes he's jealous. Sometimes he thinks the reason he's so attached is because he actually believes that one day, Saihara will snap for good and kill him. Sometimes all that sickeningly sweet lovey-dovey nonsense ebbs, and he knows this is his last chance to take control of his life.

“I love you.”

Kokichi’s almost not sure he heard him right. “E-Eh…?”

“Ouma-kun, I really love you.”

Bashful. He feels bad for thinking about those things. He smiles to himself, finishing off his glass. “...Mm. I love you too, Saihara-kun.”

And he means it. He really does. Even when his brain tells him not to. Even though he knows this can only end in death, together or alone. 

He really, madly loves him. What contradictory, stupid feelings. They defy everything he's ever been told.

He pauses. Reaches his hand out. Saihara takes it in his smooth ones, fingers running over his knuckles almost reverently. Kokichi’s heart thumps in his throat.

Even if it’ll destroy them both, Kokichi wants this love.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like the narrative kind of went from dark humor to just dark by the end of things, but this has been sitting in my drafts since 2017 so i finished it in one go at 5 am last night. it's not the best but it's done.  
> honestly......if you told me pre-v3 i'd be writing stuff like this i'd never believe you. The Things SaiOu Makes You Do


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